24 June 2003
Tuesday
Song: Franz Liszt, Sonetto 104 del Petrarch
More things today. I got the gas tank in and started on my water pump. It requires brazing, and I'm not doing that on my own. Double goodness besides that. First, I went to my good bud Tim's beach party. He's the singer of the well known ska band, the Suburban Legends. (www.suburbanlegends.com) I had a good time, ate several hot dogs, got wet in the Pacific, had bits of exploding marshmallow hit my arm, met interesting people, and I know have an X-rated nickname that abbreviated is RJ. Thanks to Jake the Australian for that one. Part two of goodness: Old Navy brought back the cargo pants I love. I bought this one brown pair of cargos, they're a lovely brushed twill cotton, and frankly I feel like more of a man in them. Now I can get the other colors they come in. This is a very good thing. Plus the fullness in them covers my large thighs and oversize ass. I need to take care of that ass. Oh yeah, speaking of my backside, this little like 5 year old guy gave me a quick squeeze as he was walking by. What the hell! Now I'm getting action from little boys? This is worse than the time I got a crush on a lesbian. (My UK reader is probably laughing his butt off now. Hi JP.) But I've only gotten to page 250 in Harry Potter V, and I hear the death is around 700 so I'd better get cracking.
G'night.
Wednesday, June 25, 2003
Tuesday, June 24, 2003
23 June 2003
Monday
Ok, lots of things have been happening lately. My car blew another head gasket. I'm finally rebuilding the damn water pump for it. Mom's car has a leaky radiator, and it overheated on me today. Yesterday Dad told me that he was once an ardent Democrat and voted for Kennedy. This is a major bombshell for me. Its Dad, he's ultra Republican. But its late and I'm only in the third chapter of the new Harry Potter book.
Monday
Ok, lots of things have been happening lately. My car blew another head gasket. I'm finally rebuilding the damn water pump for it. Mom's car has a leaky radiator, and it overheated on me today. Yesterday Dad told me that he was once an ardent Democrat and voted for Kennedy. This is a major bombshell for me. Its Dad, he's ultra Republican. But its late and I'm only in the third chapter of the new Harry Potter book.
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Thursday, June 19, 2003
19 June 2003
Thursday
Song: The Flaming Lips, Do You Realize
This is another note to tell my dear readers that I'm alive despite all rumors to the contrary. I miss my own computer. I aso miss working archives. One of my archives is in Espanol for some inexplicable reason. Oh well, 2 days down to the new Harry Potter book. I am very excited.
You know, the other day I realized something about how I am like a vintage car engine---aside from being obsolete and hard to get parts for. Old car engines, well model T at least, run quite well when not driven hard or forced to go fast. When they do, things tend to break. And I've realized that I'm like that. I run my life hard, I try to get the most from the people around me, and I am somewhat more into running the shit out of myself instead of routine maintainance. And of course this means I have breakdowns.
Thursday
Song: The Flaming Lips, Do You Realize
This is another note to tell my dear readers that I'm alive despite all rumors to the contrary. I miss my own computer. I aso miss working archives. One of my archives is in Espanol for some inexplicable reason. Oh well, 2 days down to the new Harry Potter book. I am very excited.
You know, the other day I realized something about how I am like a vintage car engine---aside from being obsolete and hard to get parts for. Old car engines, well model T at least, run quite well when not driven hard or forced to go fast. When they do, things tend to break. And I've realized that I'm like that. I run my life hard, I try to get the most from the people around me, and I am somewhat more into running the shit out of myself instead of routine maintainance. And of course this means I have breakdowns.
Monday, June 16, 2003
15 June 2003
Sunday
Tonight I saw a silent film called "The Crowd." It changed my thoughts about something. For ages I thought that what I wanted to do with my life was to create one great work of art, one great thing. To write a composition that made people stop what they were doing to listen or a painting that would be like Van Gogh's Starry Night. Or to be like the man who fired the first shot of the Revolutionary War. And after seeing this movie, I don't know if thats what I really wanted. The star of "The Crowd" was a man named James Murray. He was an extra on MGM that was spotted by King Vidor. He kicked much ass in his performance as just an ordinary guy who wanted to be a cut above the rest. Its a landmark film and Murray's great work. After "The Crowd" Murray fell into obscurity and alcoholism. He died in Manhattan in 1936. He fell from a bridge, no one knows if by accident or by plan. And I thought to myself, this isn't what I want. I don't want to do just one thing, find its the denoumement of my life, and have everything else to be tacked on as falling action.
So now what am I to do with myself?
Sunday
Tonight I saw a silent film called "The Crowd." It changed my thoughts about something. For ages I thought that what I wanted to do with my life was to create one great work of art, one great thing. To write a composition that made people stop what they were doing to listen or a painting that would be like Van Gogh's Starry Night. Or to be like the man who fired the first shot of the Revolutionary War. And after seeing this movie, I don't know if thats what I really wanted. The star of "The Crowd" was a man named James Murray. He was an extra on MGM that was spotted by King Vidor. He kicked much ass in his performance as just an ordinary guy who wanted to be a cut above the rest. Its a landmark film and Murray's great work. After "The Crowd" Murray fell into obscurity and alcoholism. He died in Manhattan in 1936. He fell from a bridge, no one knows if by accident or by plan. And I thought to myself, this isn't what I want. I don't want to do just one thing, find its the denoumement of my life, and have everything else to be tacked on as falling action.
So now what am I to do with myself?
Sunday, June 15, 2003
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
9 June 2003
Monday
Song: Valentina Crespi, Serenata
I was thinking this morning as I listened to music in bed about classical music. Now I know I am a Romantic. Franz Liszt is a personal role model, and playing a monster pipe organ as the building comes down does appeal to my sensibilities. My choir director is quite the opposite. He favors restraint, in fact I've only known him to condone vibrato once--and that was for a gospel song. I've noticed in the field of classical music a sort of duplicity. There is of course a respect for the great masters of the usual canon, but sometimes I don't get why someone is supposed to be so great. I was talking to a friend about how Baroque and Classical interpretations tend to be so utterly dry. He replied that there seems to be a thing on the part of Baroque performers to treat the piece as if it were mathematical. I think this misses the point entirely. My understanding is that music is to be expressive, and emotive. Now how is a mathematical problem to be expressive and emotive? Why do we paly Bach without rubato and Chopin waltzes dripping with ritardandi? Why not change both and see what happens? There are two sides of the issue of historically informed interpretation. One the one hand, you could say that good music will endure despite changes in instrumentation. Vivaldi will survive when played on a synthesizer. On the other, we must realize the composer's original intentions and play in a period style on period instruments. (I notice that this usually cuts off conveniently at 1750. I think most people are unwilling to go back to tiny orchestras and raucous woodwinds for Mozart. Haydn and Handel are acceptable as tinkly music of the Enlightenment, but to do that to precious Wolfgang is not permitted.) But we play Chopin on modern Bosendorfers. Now in the brouhaha of gut lute strings, deerskin piano hammers, and A415 where did we forget to make music? Whatever happened to taking what you have and trying to breathe life into the piece? And can we please get some better defined standards of what "good" classical music is. Mozart is often bland stuff that doesn't have much to say but is impeccably written. So why do people practically wet their pants over him while ignoring Rheinberger and the entire Second Boston School? If Gregorian chant is loved for its ability to be evocative and spiritual, then why do we overlook the reams and reams of things turned out by forgotten composers for silent films? Oh, and I for one still really enjoy Carl Maria von Weber.
Monday
Song: Valentina Crespi, Serenata
I was thinking this morning as I listened to music in bed about classical music. Now I know I am a Romantic. Franz Liszt is a personal role model, and playing a monster pipe organ as the building comes down does appeal to my sensibilities. My choir director is quite the opposite. He favors restraint, in fact I've only known him to condone vibrato once--and that was for a gospel song. I've noticed in the field of classical music a sort of duplicity. There is of course a respect for the great masters of the usual canon, but sometimes I don't get why someone is supposed to be so great. I was talking to a friend about how Baroque and Classical interpretations tend to be so utterly dry. He replied that there seems to be a thing on the part of Baroque performers to treat the piece as if it were mathematical. I think this misses the point entirely. My understanding is that music is to be expressive, and emotive. Now how is a mathematical problem to be expressive and emotive? Why do we paly Bach without rubato and Chopin waltzes dripping with ritardandi? Why not change both and see what happens? There are two sides of the issue of historically informed interpretation. One the one hand, you could say that good music will endure despite changes in instrumentation. Vivaldi will survive when played on a synthesizer. On the other, we must realize the composer's original intentions and play in a period style on period instruments. (I notice that this usually cuts off conveniently at 1750. I think most people are unwilling to go back to tiny orchestras and raucous woodwinds for Mozart. Haydn and Handel are acceptable as tinkly music of the Enlightenment, but to do that to precious Wolfgang is not permitted.) But we play Chopin on modern Bosendorfers. Now in the brouhaha of gut lute strings, deerskin piano hammers, and A415 where did we forget to make music? Whatever happened to taking what you have and trying to breathe life into the piece? And can we please get some better defined standards of what "good" classical music is. Mozart is often bland stuff that doesn't have much to say but is impeccably written. So why do people practically wet their pants over him while ignoring Rheinberger and the entire Second Boston School? If Gregorian chant is loved for its ability to be evocative and spiritual, then why do we overlook the reams and reams of things turned out by forgotten composers for silent films? Oh, and I for one still really enjoy Carl Maria von Weber.
Friday, June 06, 2003
6 June 2003
Friday
First off there shall be a moment of silence in memory of the blog yesterday that somehow died in cyberspace. Ok then...
I watched Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park" tonight, and like every Jane Austen thing, its all about the trials and tribulations of marriage. Falling in love with someone engaged to someone else, marrying someone you don't like because you need the money or are ugly or something, and at least one relative who's obnoxious. Now one of my deepest desires is to be married. I suppose its to know that I love someone and they love me in a bond cemented by God. But this makes me wonder if these desires are meant to be. And I worry about that.
Friday
First off there shall be a moment of silence in memory of the blog yesterday that somehow died in cyberspace. Ok then...
I watched Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park" tonight, and like every Jane Austen thing, its all about the trials and tribulations of marriage. Falling in love with someone engaged to someone else, marrying someone you don't like because you need the money or are ugly or something, and at least one relative who's obnoxious. Now one of my deepest desires is to be married. I suppose its to know that I love someone and they love me in a bond cemented by God. But this makes me wonder if these desires are meant to be. And I worry about that.
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
3 June 2003
Tuesday
I am being thwarted. www.mp3.com is often a good place to download happy music of diverse varieties. But lately its been being a twit. My downloads have been very slow, and for truncated versions too. But lately everything has been turning up crap. And the scanner doesn't appear to work. But oh well, I spent over an hour talking online to a most delightful young lady. So all is not that bad. I got a little practice time in despite the windline breaking like it does every day. Oh well. As always, I get to this when its late, and I have become rather incoherent.
Tuesday
I am being thwarted. www.mp3.com is often a good place to download happy music of diverse varieties. But lately its been being a twit. My downloads have been very slow, and for truncated versions too. But lately everything has been turning up crap. And the scanner doesn't appear to work. But oh well, I spent over an hour talking online to a most delightful young lady. So all is not that bad. I got a little practice time in despite the windline breaking like it does every day. Oh well. As always, I get to this when its late, and I have become rather incoherent.
Monday, June 02, 2003
2 June 2003
Monday
Song: Edwin H. Lemare, Toccata di Concierto Opus 59
The car is still lingering on. Hopefully the damn thing will be done tomorrow. Dad and I are both tired of it. I really can't figure out my father. Mom I can understand. But Dad's moodiness is baffling. He'll be gruff and then 5 minutes later he's fine. I don't get it. And of course everything is my fault. His instructions are perfectly clear, he does not err, its all me not following directions. And once one of the neighbors comes to chill, he's all happy with them. Mom and I get whats left over after he's put a full day in. Its really exasperating at times. I don't mind doing what busy work I can on my own and waiting for him to come home and help me with the rest. Thats just life. But Dad comes home, gets exasperated with my ineptitude--and I haven't been in the garage since January and I haven't worked on a car this seriously since last summer--and finally quits. Then when he comes in he gets on the telephone and I get to wait for him to get off so I can call someone up, check my email, or what have you. Practicing the organ is almost out of the question unless I do it early in the morning. I don't know how I'll do 3 months of this.
In unrelated news, a dear friend of mine is driving from the top of the country to near the bottom starting tomorrow. I wish him the best of luck. I telephoned, and this is one of the first times I've seen him the least bit worried. Its scary to be growing up. Had I known what it would be like I wouldn't have been in the rush I was. Perhaps the secret to this life is in savouring the beauty of a particular moment while you can hold it, before it is snatched away from you.
Oh, and another dear friend of mine--and you know who you are--pointed out that her blog was advertising first gardening supplies, then vocational tours. She said mine was offering engine rebuild kits. I looked back into my archives, and one was advertising Hammond organs. The devious little monkey in me says to play with this. Perhaps if I type medical words into my blogs I'll get pharmeceutical things. Here goes: enema, vasectomy, goiter, cesarean, cataract, apendectomy. And just to really jazz things up: codeine, barbituates, methamphetamine, morphine!
I'll be back tomorrow if I'm not arrested. :0)
Monday
Song: Edwin H. Lemare, Toccata di Concierto Opus 59
The car is still lingering on. Hopefully the damn thing will be done tomorrow. Dad and I are both tired of it. I really can't figure out my father. Mom I can understand. But Dad's moodiness is baffling. He'll be gruff and then 5 minutes later he's fine. I don't get it. And of course everything is my fault. His instructions are perfectly clear, he does not err, its all me not following directions. And once one of the neighbors comes to chill, he's all happy with them. Mom and I get whats left over after he's put a full day in. Its really exasperating at times. I don't mind doing what busy work I can on my own and waiting for him to come home and help me with the rest. Thats just life. But Dad comes home, gets exasperated with my ineptitude--and I haven't been in the garage since January and I haven't worked on a car this seriously since last summer--and finally quits. Then when he comes in he gets on the telephone and I get to wait for him to get off so I can call someone up, check my email, or what have you. Practicing the organ is almost out of the question unless I do it early in the morning. I don't know how I'll do 3 months of this.
In unrelated news, a dear friend of mine is driving from the top of the country to near the bottom starting tomorrow. I wish him the best of luck. I telephoned, and this is one of the first times I've seen him the least bit worried. Its scary to be growing up. Had I known what it would be like I wouldn't have been in the rush I was. Perhaps the secret to this life is in savouring the beauty of a particular moment while you can hold it, before it is snatched away from you.
Oh, and another dear friend of mine--and you know who you are--pointed out that her blog was advertising first gardening supplies, then vocational tours. She said mine was offering engine rebuild kits. I looked back into my archives, and one was advertising Hammond organs. The devious little monkey in me says to play with this. Perhaps if I type medical words into my blogs I'll get pharmeceutical things. Here goes: enema, vasectomy, goiter, cesarean, cataract, apendectomy. And just to really jazz things up: codeine, barbituates, methamphetamine, morphine!
I'll be back tomorrow if I'm not arrested. :0)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
